Blood Bank
by tea and leaves
Summary: Sebastian Smythe is on the brink of becoming the most successful crime boss in Ohio. Blaine Anderson is a penniless musician. When Kurt gets caught in the crossfire, he's forced to make a choice.
1. Chapter 1

It started when they bought a piano.

It was too early to get up. The sunlight was too cool and frosty and the birds weren't singing yet. Still, Kurt stumbled out of bed, shivering in the cold air, and pulled on a thermal shirt. He went downstairs and found his husband fussing with a container of sugar.

"Is the coffee machine on?" Kurt asked.

"It's not working," Sebastian mumbled, hand tightening around the lid of the container.

"What do you mean not working?"

"It's not working," he repeated, gritting his teeth with effort. "It won't turn on." The lid he was working on broke free – hit his cup of tea and spilled it – and sugar sprayed across the counter top.

"I'll get it," Kurt said quickly.

Sebastian nodded and sat down at the table. Kurt wiped up the tea and sugar and made him a new cup.

"It's been a long time since you were nervous about a meeting," Kurt told him, trying a soft smile.

Sebastian drank his tea greedily. "Important people. I'll be home late."

"You'll be fine," Kurt went on, slipping behind him and running his fingers through his hair. "You always are. You always get what you want."

Sebastian tilted his head toward Kurt and smiled lightly. "I'll call you when it's over." He got up, placed the coffee machine in the trash compactor, and picked up his briefcase. "By the way, they're dropping off a piano today. You'll have to sign for it."

"I'll sign for it."

That morning was slow. Kurt worked on clearing a spot for the piano. Maybe it should go next to the glass giraffe sculpture? Would it fit if they got rid of one of their six leather couches? Should they build a new wing onto their library and put it there?

Sometimes Kurt got lost in the collection. It was meant to distract and seduce, after all. It was meant to lure in new associates, to threaten fellow businessmen. And so was Kurt. His appearance was unnerving– his legs, his skin, his perfect full lips – and yet his voice and his personality were sweet enough to be trusted. He was the ideal mix of poison and sympathy.

Kurt eventually decided that the piano would fit in the dining room. When the delivery men showed up, he directed them there and watched them set it up. He copied Sebastian, eyes sharp, a drink in his hand, and gave unnecessary directions. It used to bother him that Sebastian's influence was the only reason anyone treated him normally. It bothered him that without it, anyone could call him a fag without a drop of retribution. The disparity made him feel off balance. He felt differently after a few years with Sebastian. He started to like that he could direct the people that used to insult him – and Sebastian lived for it. He loved introducing Kurt to conservative business partners and kissing him in front of them. He loved that he could fire them for being disrespectful if they made a face.

After the delivery men left, Kurt sat down at the piano. He had never played before and it was like the piano knew this. It seemed to ask for more of him than he knew how to give.

That night, he couldn't sleep, even though all was quiet, even though he had too much to drink. He couldn't get the piano off his mind. It was like a ghost, like a phantom hand opening a door over and over again. Years later, Kurt wondered if it knew.

* * *

The doorbell rang three seconds after Kurt sat down and he groaned. Was it really too much to ask for a few minutes without an alarm or a phone or a fucking_ doorbell _to disturb him? He was busy enough with his own life, let alone all the tiny but crucial asides that Sebastian needed, and now the doorbell was ringing? If it was the neighbor - that long-winded starlet named Rachel – asking to borrow an egg again, he swore he would end her life.

He swung the door open viciously, revealing a man with tousled black hair.

"I get the feeling this is the wrong address…" the man said quietly, glancing at his phone. "Do you know Sebastian Smythe? I'm the piano player he called. He said to be here at 5:30, that I'd be playing here sometimes…?"

"Oh my God," Kurt muttered. He took a calming breath and held out his hand. "This is the right address. I'm Kurt."

"I'm Blaine," said the man, smiling uncertainly and glancing at the life-sized alabaster lions on either side of the door.

"Want to come in?" Kurt asked. "I don't really know what's going on, but Sebastian must want you here, so…"

"You know Sebastian, then?" Blaine asked, following Kurt through the door.

"He's my husband."

"Oh," said Blaine. "That's interesting."

"What, he didn't flirt with you on the phone, did he?"

"No. He just came off—"

"Straight," Kurt agreed. "I know. That's what being in business for ten years will do." He shut the front door. "We put the piano in the dining room because it has good acoustics…high ceilings…lots of light…it's really beautiful."

"Your whole house is really beautiful," said Blaine. "It reminds me of my prep school – which is actually a compliment – I mean – I know most prep schools don't exactly have a lot of….panache. I'm really not coming off as very professional, am I?"

Kurt laughed. "No, but I'm tired of professionals. And I can see a prep school having panache. There's one right down the street from here that's gorgeous."

Blaine grinned. "Dalton. I know – that's actually the school I'm talking about."

"You went to Dalton?" Kurt asked in disbelief. "That's where Sebastian went! He must have graduated before you."

"When did he graduate?"

"About ten years ago," replied Kurt, opening the door to the dining room.

"Oh wow – that was definitely before me. I graduated three years ago."

"Sebastian's such an old man," Kurt laughed. "I graduated three years ago, too, from this public school that still inspires nightmares. Lima High."

"I bet prom was fun," teased Blaine. "I bet you had so many great choices."

"I was prom queen, thank you very much," Kurt shot back. "Would you like some coffee? I don't know why he said five-thirty. He's never been home at five-thirty."

"Coffee would be great, yeah, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind. How do you take it?"

"Just black."

"Just black because that's how you like it or because it's trendy?"

Blaine grinned. "Because that's how I like it. Don't worry, I'm not a hipster."

"Oh, I know," Kurt replied, pouring coffee into a tall green cup. "You dress too well for a hipster. But I had to ask. I was a barista for a while and that black coffee order…I just wanted to shake some sense into certain people, like, stop pretending to be an artist! You can't even color coordinate!"

Blaine laughed. "I know exactly what you mean. That's what my brother is like. You might have seen him on TV…he's that…credit rating guy."

"_Oh_," Kurt said wickedly, sliding the coffee over. "You mean the handsome one?"

"Yes, he's got a nice face," Blaine said, rolling his eyes. "He's also a huge pain in the ass."

"It's too bad how often those go together. Which reminds me…Sebastian criticizes everyone he hires and he's really intimidating, but don't let it get to you. He usually isn't serious."

"Usually?"

"He's just…menacing," Kurt went on. "He's 6'2", you know."

Blaine paled. "6'2". That's…"

"Petrifying? That's what I thought when I met him. Well, that's what I thought the morning after I met him. I was too drunk to notice how tall he was before that."

"I would say you had to get married, but…"

Kurt laughed, pouring a cup of coffee for himself. "He'll like you. You have his sense of humor."

"So, how long have you been married?"

"Almost two years – it would be three, but we had to wait a year to get residency in another state so that we _could_ get married. We don't believe in it, actually, but it's an effective statement. Sebastian's parents hate us and it's something to throw in their face, that we can do the same things as them." Kurt smiles. "And maybe it makes me feel a little better about staying home all day and cooking macaroni."

"Don't most gay couples hate that?" Blaine asked. "That division?"

"Mm hmm," Kurt said vaguely. "But we're not a very traditional gay couple."

* * *

"No," Sebastian said, working his nail into the side of a Styrofoam cup. "That's not going to work."

"It's the only way it _can_ work," argued Quinn Fabray, his lawyer. "What you're asking for isn't legally possible. You have to pay him the full amount."

"He owes _me_, Fabray," Sebastian snapped. "It doesn't matter that I'm taking over his business."

"So you get the money afterward," she said easily, playing with a straw between her matte red lips. "You blackmail him afterwards. But you have to pay him now. You have to make the transaction legal. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Don't patronize me."

"Don't be cute. You need me." Her voice was clear and soft. "Do it. Pay Mr. Hudson the amount I specified – the _full_ amount."

"Fine," he said. She slid the check across the table to him and he signed it. He slid it back to her. "Get it to him today and make sure the tape reaches him, too."

"I'm not dropping it off," she said firmly. "You are. The last time I spoke with him, he asked to speak with you personally."

"No one gets to speak with me personally. If he's asking to speak with me personally, it might be time we involved Karofsky."

"We aren't there yet," Quinn argued, leaning slightly forward. "This is delicate and we need the right leverage. You do not want to involve Karofsky at this point."

"Even if, hypothetically, I do speak with him, I'll need Karofsky there as my body guard."

"It's one man, Sebastian," snapped Quinn. "One man and his middle-aged single mom. Wear a bulletproof vest if you want to be extra careful, but Karofsky should not be involved yet. You don't want to start that cycle until after he refuses to pay you."

"You should remember that you aren't the head of this business."

"You should remember I have the IRS in my pocket."

Sebastian crossed his arms and smirked. "Now you're playing my game."

"You're actually playing my game," hissed Quinn, latching her briefcase. "Give him the check. Tonight."

"I can't do it tonight. I'm late for dinner."

Quinn turned around suddenly and slapped her palms on his desk.

"Say the magic words," she said through perfect gritted teeth. "Say: _I'm sorry, Baby. I'll make it up to you. I'll take you to Jamaica for Christmas_. Tell him anything, but get Hudson the goddamn check. Tonight, Sebastian."

She whisked through the door. Sebastian checked his watch.

* * *

Kurt had just opened up a bottle of wine when the phone rang. He glanced at the display, rolled his eyes at Blaine – who had his head in his hands in a display of complete boredom – and pressed the answer button.

"Listen—"

"You're late."

"I know. I had a business problem. Just a little thing, nothing to worry about, but it took a long time because Fabray wouldn't—"

"If you hate Quinn Fabray so much, fire her."

"I need her."

"You better need me more."

"Hey, c'mon. You know I would rather be at home with you."

"Fine," Kurt answered. "Just hurry up. That piano player you ordered from Amazon or wherever? He's here."

"I forgot all about that. I'm sorry, Babe. I'm coming right now. I just have to make one stop. It shouldn't take too long."

"Just get here, okay?"

"I will. I promise."

Kurt hung up the phone and looked at Blaine, who had one eyebrow angled up in curiosity.

"I really am a steal on Amazon."

Kurt grinned hugely. "Sorry about that. I was frustrated."

Blaine laughed. "I understand completely."

"You've had a boyfriend you can't drag out of the office?"

"No. My boyfriends are usually the can't get _into_ the office types. I actually just broke up with someone because he was growing marijuana in our basement…"

"Oh my."

"…but my dad was always stuck in the office. So I know what it's like."

Kurt smiles distantly. "I thought it was going to be great, you know? To have this much free time?"

"You don't work?" Blaine asked.

"Not since being a barista three years ago. I mean, I have a boutique downtown that I run with my friend, based on something we saw in Milan." He paused and took a large sip of wine. "I actually miss making mochas. How can someone miss that kind of thing?"

"I miss tuning pianos," Blaine tells him. "That's what I did before I learned how to play very well." He glanced over his shoulder at the piano. "Neither of you can play?"

"No. I loved music in high school. I was in Glee Club and everything, but…but I didn't get into the college I wanted…and then I met Sebastian…"

Kurt's voice faded, his index finger circling the inside of his wine glass. He and Sebastian weren't in love. They were attracted to each other in a way that was more magnetic than voluntary, and they decided to get married because it was a smart investment. Kurt didn't mind. Too much had gone wrong in his life to put anything above dependability. And it wasn't as if he had to marry some pedophile who saw him as a fleshly male representation of Tinker Bell. It was a good match, that's all.

"…I like living like this," he went on finally. "It's what I've wanted for a long time. The only difference is that I thought I would make this for myself. But you can't live forever."

"I don't know," Blaine says. "Who says you can't live forever?"

Kurt looked up from his wine glass, eyes like raindrops, and smiled slightly.

* * *

Quinn Fabray was going to get him killed.

Sebastian pulled out of his company's lot and drove towards Finn Hudson's house. The streets were wet and his tires talked against them. He lit a cigarette.

When he reached the address, a threadbare suburban duplex near Lima, he tucked the check in his front pocket neatly. He walked up to the door, bristling in the unusual cold, and knocked three times. The image of the Kevlar vest – unused – surfaced in the back of his mind.

The door opened and a middle-aged woman with short copper hair opened the door. She frowned.

"Can I help you?"

"Is Finn Hudson home?"

"May I ask who you are?"

"Of course. I'm forgetting my manners." Sebastian extended his hand. "I'm Sebastian Smythe of The Smythe Corporation."

She did not seem any more welcoming than before, but she opened the door more widely and called over her shoulder for Finn. He appeared a moment later in a ratty crimson sweatshirt. His face hardened at the sight of Sebastian.

"Let me handle this, Mom," he said softly. "I'll be back in a minute."

Carole nodded hesitantly and went back inside, shutting the door.

"You're Sebastian Smythe," Finn said immediately, his voice torn between shock and anger.

Sebastian nodded. "You asked to speak with me personally. I thought I would take his opportunity to give you this." He handed him the check. "It's a hundred thousand dollars. It's for your business."

"I said it wasn't for sale."

"But you sold it. You sold it to me."

"Only because you forced me to. There's, there's a name for that. Ext—"

"Extortion? Blackmail?" asked Sebastian, smoothing his jacket absently. "There's also a word for where you'll end up if you don't deposit that check."

"It's my father's business," Finn said fiercely. "You can't have it."

"Do yourself a favor. Deposit the check."

Sebastian turned around and walked back to his car, whistling. He drove away.

When he pulled into the garage at ten o'clock, all the lights were off. He stumbled into the living room, dropped his keys onto the table, and stretched.

"Oh good," said Kurt's voice from the corner. "You're home."

Sebastian spun around. "Don't do that. You almost gave me a heart attack."

"I can't _believe _you," Kurt seethed, stalking out of the shadows. "You are _five hours_ late."

"I had to talk to someone in Lima. Where's the piano player?"

"I sent him home, Sebastian! We got tired of small talk!"

"Well, what was he like?"

"Punctual!"

"Calm down. I'm sorry."

"I will not calm down! You drove a hundred miles out of the way because you couldn't tell Quinn Fabray to shove her Harvard degree up her ass! And you smell like

cigarettes!"

"I had a bad day."

"You live in a mansion with a fuck buddy, Sebastian! I'm not sure what you have the right to complain about!"

"I'm having a problem at work, Kurt! A lot is at stake."

"What?" Kurt said in a baby voice. "Did they put Splenda in your coffee instead of sugar?"

"Forget it. You don't understand."

"You're a brat, Sebastian. You won't be grateful for any of this until it's gone."

"You're a drama queen," Sebastian spat back. "And you should know your place."

Kurt rolled his eyes and sat down near the window. "Find someone else to suck your dick."

* * *

Blaine cracked open a cherry soda and looked out his kitchen window. He felt like he was forgetting something, an image from years before. His synapses weren't connecting, like desperate hands not quite reaching in time.

He took a sip of soda and warmed his feet on a heat vent. He hadn't spent so much time talking to someone since he broke up with his last boyfriend. Well, he talked to his neighbor Tina. Or Tina talked to him, more accurately. And sometimes he called his friend Finn and talked about football. But having a long conversation struck him as infrequent in any case. He was busy with his music, his career, his family. The usual excuses.

He finished off the soda and whistled over the top of it. He smiled a little, put the bottle on the drying rack and wandered into his room.

Across the street, Tina Abrams' phone rang.

* * *

**A/N: I have a blog with media related to this story, which includes art/music that I would love for you to see! The link is on my profile page. Remember to review or Sebastian will have your house bombed.**


	2. Chapter 2

Artie Abrams glanced across six computer screens, looking for possible anomalies. If his job taught him anything, it was that most private lives were anything but scandalous. People woke up and made coffee. They watched television. They scratched itches and shopped at Walmart.

The Hudson residence was particularly mundane. Just a mother and a son, both visually unexciting. Finn was washing a plate. Carole was brushing her hair.

Artie slumped against his desk, eyes already fatigued. Years ago, when he saw a job opening for a computer programmer and developer at the Smythe corporation, he was ecstatic– it called for someone highly skilled and promised high pay. He didn't realize that he would be demoted as soon as the highly technical work was complete. He didn't know he would be working as a technician. He didn't know he would be an accomplice to blackmail.

Finn Hudson finished washing the plate. He gripped the sink and stared out the window, his eyes blazing. Artie zoomed in for a closer look.

* * *

Sebastian had just received word from the bank when his secretary burst into his office.

"M-Mr. Smythe?" she stuttered. "It's Mr. Abrams. He would like to speak with you. He said it's urgent."

"Send him—"

Artie rolled in before Sebastian could get the words out.

"It's Hudson," he panted. "He's…he's driving to the repair shop. He has gasoline. I think he's going to blow it up."

Sebastian got up immediately and walked towards the door.

"Call the police," he directed his secretary. "Give them my name and tell them it's their first priority. Then call Fabray." He looked at Artie. "Get me a driver. Right now."

Artie followed him out of his office, dialing frantically.

Finn pulled up alongside his late father's auto repair shop, tears streaming down his face. It wasn't fair, he thought as he heaved the gallon of gasoline out of his trunk. It wasn't right.

It started on a hot summer night. An arresting blond woman knocked on his door and offered to buy the business from him. He didn't want to sell it and he told her that. She seemed to understand.

Then the letters started to show up. He didn't know how they knew, but they did. They knew everything.

They knew his father was dead. They knew his father died of a drug overdose. They knew his mother passed it off as complications from PTSD. They knew he was awarded a medal for his service – a medal they knew would be confiscated if the true cause of his death were made public.

They said they would reveal everything if he didn't sell the business, so he sold the business.

He didn't understand at first what a large corporation wanted with a family-run auto shop. But he started to hear whispers from other mechanics. There was a pattern. He stopped at every auto shop in between Lima and Columbus. Most of them had been recently bought, all by the same corporation. All of the men he talked to were deeply reluctant to give him details.

No. It wasn't fair.

He walked up the rock-lined drive and unlocked the door, like he had a thousand times. He grew up in that shop. They weren't going to take it. He would rather put it to rest – end it all himself – than see it in someone else's hands.

He wandered through the empty office, running his hands over the chipped Formica, tugging the springy tan cord of the wall phone, flipping through the calendar that was now two months out of date. Then he went to the garage. He stood underneath the lifts and walked to each oil spot like a human game of connect the dots. Then he glugged the gasoline onto the floor.

* * *

Kurt chopped celery and sung softly to himself. The television mumbled in the background.

He was still upset about last night, though he couldn't understand why. Sebastian was always late. He was always left entertaining strangers. But there was something about being alone with that particular stranger that made him furious with Sebastian. All evening he hoped Sebastian would get home because he didn't want to come off as dishonest; at the same time, he hoped he wouldn't come home, so he could keep talking to Blaine. Maybe he was angry at Sebastian for making him feel so split. Maybe he was angry because he didn't trust himself alone with someone like Blaine.

The volume on the television rose and Kurt looked up. A reporter was standing in front of a burning building.

He returned to his celery for a moment. Then his eyes shot back to the television. He noticed the words on the banner. "Latest Smythe Corporation Acquisition Goes up in Smoke."

"Oh my God," he whispered, walking up to the TV. The announcer was talking rapidly.

"—_claims he was forced to sell his business, but refused to state the supposed threat that the corporation placed upon him. Mr. Smythe intervened at the scene of the crime and subdued the suspect, resulting in the injury of himself and Mr. Hudson. Neither was hospitalized."_

Kurt dropped the remote and dove under the couch for his shoes.

"_Mr. Hudson is currently charged with arson, aggravated assault and obstruction of justice. Firefighters arrived at the scene almost immediately after the fire began, but given the various flammable materials housed in the garage, were unable to put it out until millions of dollars of damaged occurred. Mr. Smythe called the damage 'irreversible' and asserted that he would be present at any potential court proceedings."_

Kurt got to his feet. The screen cut to a shot of four policemen tucking a lanky young man into a police car.

"_As stated earlier, the business deal went through only this morning. No more details about the nature of the sale are known at this time."_

Kurt shut the television off and jogged into the garage.

* * *

Blaine frowned into the bottom of his tea cup, walking out of Tina's kitchen and into her den.

"What did you put in this?" he wondered. "It tastes like—"

"Did you see this?" Tina interrupted, grabbing his arm and tugging him in front of the television. "Don't you know him?"

Blaine squinted at the screen and took a step back at the sight of Finn.

"Oh my God. What happened?"

"He blew something up at the Smythe Corporation!"

"Small world…" Blaine set his tea on the coffee table. "Is that Sebastian Smythe they're interviewing now?"

Tina nodded, smoothing her checkerboard dress and glancing sideways at Blaine, who was so intent that he didn't notice the stray curl on his forehead.

"That's him," she said softly, never taking her eyes off Blaine. "He must have bought Finn's business."

"I didn't know Finn was selling it."

"He probably wasn't. Sebastian Smythe is just used to getting his way. If he sees something he wants…"

Blaine's stomach turned a little at the thought of Kurt.

Kurt missiled past housing developments, adjusting the mirrors more out of anxiety than necessity. He had pangs again. He hated those little fishhooks of care. What good was it to reject them at every turn when they caught up with you, even stronger, in the end?

It was like a car door left open, the bell dinging. He had to give in.

He pulled up along the smoking auto shop, searching for a place to park; he glimpsed Sebastian in between two fire trucks and left his car running in the center of the street, flinging the door open and sprinting towards him.

Sebastian turned from his conversation with three police officers and Kurt threw his arms around him.

"I was – they said you– I was so worried."

"It's fine," he whispered. "I'm fine."

Kurt pulled back and ran his hands up and down Sebastian's arms, like he was checking that he was still whole. His eyes centered on a thin streak of blood on his husband's cheek, and he brushed his thumb over it, so softly it almost couldn't be called a touch.

"Sebastian…"

"It's fine."

"That's what you always say," Kurt mumbled. "You always say it's fine. What if this happens again? What if it's our house?"

"You have to trust me."

"I do trust you. I don't trust whoever did this. What if there's more of him?"

"It's just him. I know what I'm talking about."

Kurt nodded hesitantly, and then hugged Sebastian again, tucking his face into his neck and breathing in slow, steady streams. He didn't want to let go. He wanted to stand in the choking, smoky air the rest of his life.

"You'll probably have a long day," he said finally, detaching himself. "Do you need anything?"

"Lunch would be great."

"OK." Kurt kissed him quickly and started away. "I'll stop at that good Mexican place."

"Sounds perfect – Kurt?"

Kurt looked over his shoulder.

"I'm really sorry about last night."

"Me too," Kurt said weakly. "I guess you weren't exaggerating about the business problem."

* * *

Finn slumped against the wall of the holding cell, his nose still bleeding sluggishly. He knew he was in trouble like he never had been. He knew he could go to jail for years and that his mother would be left alone. He had risked everything for a little precious control.

The warden rapped on the bars nearest to him. "You get to make a phone call."

Finn got up stiffly and waited for the door to be unlocked. Other prisoners stared at him as he exited the cell and followed the warden.

He dialed his mother and she answered brightly. "This is Carole!"

"Hi, Mom," Finn said, shifting on his feet. "I…" He started to cry. "I need your help."

He heard a clink on the other end of the phone, like Carole had set down a cup of coffee.

"Finn, is something wrong?"

"I'm in jail."

"What happened?"

"I screwed up, Mom. I really screwed up."

* * *

Blaine sat on his twin bed, tuning his craigslist guitar and sipping on his favorite cherry soda. His mind was alive with unwanted energy, a thousand thoughts ticking off-key and out-of-tune. He didn't understand Finn's motive, which made him question Sebastian's business practices, which made him wonder if he and Kurt had married for something other than love, which made him think Kurt was probably more neurotic than he realized.

He thought it was funny that he was worried about someone he knew nothing about, and found it even stranger that Kurt had no idea he was worried. He wished that certain thoughts would leave clues for the other person to follow.

His phone rang and he picked it up, clamping it in between his jaw and his shoulder. "Hello?"

"Is this Blaine?"

He recognized the voice as Kurt's.

"This is Blaine. Hi."

"Oh, good. I'm just calling to say you probably shouldn't come over tonight."

"Yeah, I saw the news. Is everything okay?"

It took Kurt a while to answer. "It's okay." Another pause. "We're having a dinner party this weekend and you're welcome to come. We were going to serve fire-roasted pizza but we're not much in the mood for that anymore."

Blaine laughed. "That sounds really nice. What time?"

"Seven. It's black tie. You can bring someone, if you want."

"I think it'll just be me."

"See you then."

"It's a date – oh, and Kurt? I'm sorry about what happened. I'm glad you're okay."

"Thanks," Kurt replied softly. "See you this weekend."

* * *

Quinn Fabray's voice broke through the air like an electrical current. "Idiot! I told you to calm him down!"

Sebastian turned around to find her marching towards him, red lips perfect and bursting with derision.

"If your clumsy, wandering fingers disturb the balance one more time—"

"I think you ought to consider toeing the line a bit more," Sebastian interrupted, unconcerned.

"Sebastian, follow through with whatever legal proceedings we're now involved with, but after that, you have to let go of Finn Hudson and find other associates. His business is gone. He has no value now."

"I think he has tremendous value. He owes us millions of dollars, even more than we were anticipating."

"We'll never see that money."

"It doesn't have to be money. It can be time and service."

"Doing what? This is a fantasy. I know you don't like loose ends, but that's the way this has to be."

Sebastian walked away from her without responding.

"What are you doing?" she shouted.

"Paying Hudson's bail. Call Karofsky or you're fired."

* * *

Dave Karofsky sipped a cup of cold coffee while he watched Sebastian pace.

"I don't want him to end up in the hospital. We don't need this to become part of the public story, and it will if he needs medical care."

Karofsky nodded. "So this is going to be a purely verbal threat."

"No," Sebastian said pointedly. "When I said I don't want him in the hospital, I meant you need to keep him from going there. Bully him. Don't kill him, though," he added. "That's not what we want either."

Karofsky got up and shook Sebastian's hand. "Understood. Pleasure doing business."

* * *

Kurt was asleep on the couch when Sebastian came home, an issue of Vogue draped over his chest. Sebastian gently picked it up and placed it on the table, and then covered Kurt with a blanket. He made to go to the kitchen, but Kurt caught his arm.

"Hey you."

"I thought you were asleep," said Sebastian, kneeling by him.

Kurt smirked. "I know. You never would have covered me with a blanket otherwise. You're incapable of exhibiting care if there's someone watching."

"I don't know if that's true…" Sebastian replied, dragging his hand down Kurt's body until it rested on his hipbone.

Kurt smiled and tugged Sebastian into a lengthy kiss. He felt Sebastian smile against his lips and he urged him up onto the couch.

"I missed you," Sebastian mumbled, kissing a pattern down Kurt's neck.

Kurt giggled. "You talk too much."

"You sound just like Quinn."

"Oh, you love a hard time," said Kurt, crossing his arms behind Sebastian's neck before stretching up and kissing him passionately.

Miles away, Karofsky knocked on Finn Hudson's door.

* * *

**A/N: Kurtbastian. I can't help but ship them a tiny bit. Even though Sebastian's a jerk and Kurt has no self esteem. And just in case you were worried, there shall be Klaine! :D**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Just in case it's confusing, this chapter (basically) goes back and forth between a party scene and a psychologist's office scene. The party scene takes place a few days before the office scene.**

* * *

"I feel unfulfilled."

"Did you watch Dr. Phil before you came here or what?"

Kurt sat up, startled. That wasn't the kind of thing he expected from his new psychiatrist.

"No," he said guardedly. "I just thought that was a good opening statement. I feel so empty even though I'm rich and good–looking and married and—"

"Didn't know that was legal yet."

Who was this woman? She had been praised on Yelp for her "sparkling personality." In hindsight, looking on the same website he used to find good bakeries may not have been the best bet for finding a psychiatrist.

"It's not. We got married in New York."

"No, no - didn't you have to get your parents to sign a consent form? Aren't you like sixteen?"

"I'm twenty one," Kurt said dully.

"So who's your husband?"

"Is that relevant?"

"I'm the one with degree here, Porcelain."

"My name's—"

"It's Porcelain." Dr. Sylvester slid forward in her chair. "You were just telling me who your husband is."

"He's the head of the Smythe Corporation."

"Oh, Weasel Face," she said, unwrapping a chocolate mint. "I know him. Never knew he was gay. Then again, you're so feminine, maybe he got confused."

"Do you know how offensive that is?"

"Uptight," Dr. Sylvester sounded out, writing the word down. "Keep going. This is informative."

Kurt flung himself back against the psychiatrist's couch.

"Sensitive," she added, scribbling.

"I just want to feel, I don't know, free again."

"You said you were what? Twenty?"

"Twenty-one."

"And you don't feel free…" She made a thinking noise. "Did you ever go through that sleep-with-everything-that-moves, drink-fruity-cocktails, get-it-out-of-your-system stage?"

"What?"

"You know, that slutty twenties thing."

"Oh. Yeah. I took Ecstasy like candy."

"So that's not it. Alright. Do you have a boring sex life?"

"What does that have to do with—? No I don't, thank you."

"Do you have an eating disorder?"

"No. What is this? Twenty Questions?"

"Considering I thought you were a thirteen-year-old girl when you walked in, I thought that was a valid question."

"Are you a real psychologist?"

"What is this?" she retorted in a high voice. "Twenty questions?"

Kurt sighed and crossed his arms behind his head. "Maybe you should just give me Prozac or something."

"Oh, I just knew you were that type," said Dr. Sylvester. "You want a quick fix for everything because you're used to clapping your hands and getting what you want. Well, real-life isn't like that, Porcelain."

"Maybe I'm upset because Seb's been having trouble at work…I try to help…I visit him sometimes…"

"I bet you fit very neatly under his desk."

Kurt swung his feet over the side of the couch stared at Dr. Sylvester. "What did you say?"

"Oh, don't pretend," she snapped. "This is a place of honesty."

"It's supposed to be a place of caring!"

"Go to your friend's house if you want caring!"

Kurt reluctantly leaned back in the couch. "Maybe I'm an alcoholic…"

"Maybe you should stop making unfounded and hysterical suggestions."

"Well, you aren't saying anything useful!"

"I'm getting you agitated," she said in a surprisingly kind tone. "It's very useful."

"Well, it's not very enjoyable! I just wanted someone to…" Kurt swallowed hard, almost annoyed at the sting in his eyes, "…to talk to."

"You can't talk to Sebastian?"

"No. I mean, not really. We talk but we don't talk about anything serious. If we talk about something serious, it's about his job. We don't talk about life and I…I met this person who does like to talk about life—"

"Another man?"

"Yes." Kurt took a breath. "I did something stupid."

* * *

_Three Days Earlier_

Kurt spread a stack of crackers out on a plate.

"I hate this!" he yelled at Sebastian. "I hate these parties! I hate your friends!"

"I hate them, too!" Sebastian called back from the highest rung of a ladder, a string of lights in his hand. "We'll suffer together!"

"Did you know Karofsky smacked my ass last time?"

"Can hardly blame him!"

"It's not his ass to smack, Sebastian!"

"I know that better than anyone, Doll!"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Stop shouting before you fall off that ladder and kill yourself."

"I know what I'm doing."

"Yes, quite the repair man _you_ are. You've never fixed a thing in your life."

"I can at least pretend…" he mumbled, a nail in his mouth. "It's kind of sexy isn't it? The cargo pants? The tool box?"

"I can barely keep my clothes on…" Kurt drawled.

Sebastian laughed, then swore loudly when his container of nails fell to the floor. Kurt walked over and dutifully picked them up.

"Will you come down here?" he asked softly. "We don't need lights."

Sebastian groaned and came down the ladder. Kurt handed him the container of nails and kissed the side of his mouth.

"Will you put that tux on now?"

"I thought I might wear these cargo pants and start a sex riot."

Kurt grinned and rested his forehead against Sebastian's. "Let's just cancel the party, hmm?"

Sebastian ran his thumbs over Kurt's collarbone, bringing on a giggle.

"Mm, stop. You're turning me on."

"I knew you were lying about the cargo pants…"

Kurt giggled again and kissed him, a bubbly, unfamiliar sensation rising up in him like sea foam.

"I'm going to go finish the crackers," he whispered.

"Okay," said Sebastian, pressing a kiss into the crook of his husband's neck. "I'll go find something to wear."

Kurt smiled and walked back to the table. As he emptied another stack of flavorless crackers onto the plate, he noticed his hands were shaking.

* * *

"So what happened?" asked Dr. Sylvester.

"Nothing _happened_," said Kurt._ "_It was a feeling."

"A feeling that you wanted something to happen?"

"It was the same feeling I had for Sebastian earlier that day. I've never told Sebastian that I love him. I don't even believe in that kind of thing. But maybe I—"

"Wait," Sue said, suddenly belligerent. "What do you mean?"

"We didn't get married because we loved each other," said Kurt, like this didn't need an explanation.

Sue stared at him for a moment before pursing her lips and gesturing at him to continue.

"We were kissing and flirting before the party," he went on, "and we never do that, and earlier, when I heard that he got hurt in that accident..."

"So you're telling me that you think you're in love with your husband, and at the same time, that you might be in love with someone else?"

"I don't know how I feel about Blaine. All my emotions are just…heightened…and I don't know what it means. I'm usually so disciplined about that. About not letting myself feel those things."

Sue took off her glasses, crossing them in her fingers. She didn't speak for a long time.

"I think you should talk to your husband. It would be unhealthy for you to develop feelings he can't reciprocate."

"I can't tell Sebastian."

"Because you know he doesn't feel that way about you?"

"Because I don't know what to do if he does."

* * *

Sebastian talked to one of his thousand business partners, a full glass in his hand; he hadn't found enough time to take a sip. The man he was talking to had a red face and thick, hanging fingers; he owned a crane company.

Sebastian glanced at Kurt across the room, and Kurt mimicked shooting himself in the head.

"But the price should go up very soon, it's been very profitable working with Mr. Hanjeeb, it's like an instant injection of funds, I highly recommend it, and I know you've been interested in looking further into vertical integration, and he's really the man for that job."

"Thanks for the input. I've spoken with Mr. Hanjeeb and he does seem reliable—"

"Very reliable!"

"—but I'm not sure that's the direction we're going."

"Well, that's understandable after what happened this week – and to think that someone paid that Hudson fellow's bail! That he was released!"

"It's probably all for the best," replied Sebastian. "And I can assure you, that little mishap is not an omen for any of my other dealings."

"Well, I can't say it doesn't have some of us a little shaken—"

Quinn Fabray appeared in a lilac cocktail dress.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt, but I have some urgent business to discuss with Mr. Smythe." She dug her indigo nails into Sebastian's arm. "Enjoy the party, though! The little hot dogs are _divine_."

She tugged Sebastian towards the appetizer table and shoved a plate of crackers into his hand.

"What are you doing?"

"Making this look casual!" Her mouth twitched back and forth and she ran a hand through her flaxen hair. "The first payment came in."

"Is that all?"

"No. I wanted to tell you that I think this business with Hudson is very misguided. If we ever reach a point where _we_ are in trouble with the law, I will say you didn't follow my advice and threatened to fire me if I didn't help you extort Hudson's money."

"I didn't hire you to be disloyal."

"Loyalty is weakness, Sebastian."

* * *

Kurt had just lifted his martini to his lips when someone touched his shoulder.

He turned around, drink sloshing slightly, and his eyes lit up.

"Blaine! You made it!"

"I couldn't stay away," Blaine said. "Though I think you should have warned me that my neighbors would be here." He pointed to a skinny, bespectacled man in a wheelchair and an Asian woman in a chic blue dress. "I can't let them see me."

"We could hide. I hate these parties."

"Oh, me too."

"Then why did you come?"

"Because you asked me to."

Kurt smiled after a moment and set his martini on a white linen tablecloth. "C'mon. Let's walk down by the lake."

* * *

Like most mothers, she wouldn't listen.

"Mom! Hang up the phone! You need to hang up the phone!"

Carole continued to scream into the receiver. Finn tried to get up from the couch, but he winced against the pain and fell back.

"You leave my boy alone! He doesn't deserve this! You leave him alone!"

Finn could picture Sebastian on the other end of the line, his lip curling in a mixture of amusement and aggression.

"Do you think you can get away with this?" Carole demanded. "You almost killed him!"

"Mom!" Finn fought against the pain in his chest and got to his feet. "Mom, you have to trust me!"

"No one hurts my son and walks away from it! You mark my words, I—"

Finn wrestled the phone from Carole and closed it. Her eyes blazed for a split second, and then she threw her arms around Finn and started to cry.

* * *

Kurt and Blaine walked along the lake together, their breath suspended in the freezing air.

"I grew up in Westerville," Blaine was saying, "and then I spent a year in New York City, but something made me want to come back here. I never liked it here very much, but sometimes I just feel that something really important's going to happen here."

"Like what?"

"Like catching a lucky break, or realizing what it all means, or meeting the love of my life." He laughed. "I should let it go, don't you think?"

"No," Kurt said softly. "Things like that end up meaning a lot more than we think." He looked out over the water for a moment, wondering what it would be like to jump through the ice. "I always had that feeling about Ohio, too. And I hate it here."

"But you stay here because…?"

"Because of that feeling," Kurt replied. "And Sebastian."

"He likes it here?"

"No, we both hate it. But the business is here and that's all that's ever mattered."

"Did you meet before he started it or…?"

"He had just graduated from Harvard when we met. He already had the idea. He loved to talk about it. But he hadn't actually started it." Kurt looked back up at the house, gold light streaming out of every window. "He founded it the year after we got married."

Blaine followed Kurt's gaze. "It must have been successful."

"It was outrageously successful," Kurt said quietly, still staring at the house. "I hated it."

"It's not too late to do what you want," Blaine said softly. "It's never too late for that."

Kurt turned around and leaned on the iron fencing. "It is too late. I'm married. I have everything."

"I've never understood what everything means," said Blaine, leaning his head back on his shoulders and looking up at the stars. "Maybe that kind of everything." He flicked his eyes at Kurt and up at the sky again. "But not clothes and cars and furniture."

Kurt giggled suddenly. "You're a rolling stone, hmm?"

Blaine looked back at him and grinned. "More of a dreamer."

"Are you going to stay here forever, then?" asked Kurt, staring at the sky with him. "Until that star you're waiting for falls down to earth?"

Blaine smiled. "Maybe it's already on earth and I just have to find it."

* * *

Tina gripped Artie's arm and stared around the spacious ballroom.

"I don't see Blaine," she hissed. "I thought he was supposed to be here."

"Will you stop doing that?" asked Artie. "It's embarrassing."

"Doing what?"

"Craning around like you're looking for a celebrity! You see him every day!"

"But he said he would be here!"

Tina never got through a conversation without mentioning Blaine, and she mentioned him with so much reverence and passion it was like he was her muse. Artie knew there was no possibility of an affair – Blaine was about as straight as a sine wave – but sometimes he wondered if Tina accepted that.

"I'm sure he's here," Artie said, giving his wife a long, forgiving look. "We'll just wait it out."

Tina nodded sadly and ran her fingers through Artie's hair. "Did I tell you that Blaine knows the guy who set that business on fire?"

"What do you mean?"

"They're friends," Tina said, shrugging. "They always watch football together. I think they're pretty close."

Artie swallowed his dread. "Oh. That's nice."

* * *

Sebastian tapped his foot and listened to Mr. Hanjeeb – a fat man with a two-dimensional beard – blab about wise investments. After the third use of the phrase "if you sold that, you'd be golden," Sebastian let his attention drift. A circle of conservatives – two of which he knew for a fact were heteroflexible – were exchanging what they thought were inspired jokes.

"What do you call a gay guy in a wheelchair?" one asked excitedly. "Rolaids!"

"Why are politicians always gay?" another shot back. "They can only mandate!"

"Hey, hey, listen to this one – how do five gay men walk? One Direction!"

The three men laughed uproariously. Sebastian smiled into his martini. As far as he was concerned, anyone who wasn't gay was either boring or dishonest. Just then, a soft voice sounded behind him and he felt a familiar hand on his side. He turned around and Kurt smiled expectantly.

Blaine watched Kurt talk to Sebastian from across the room. He knew the emotion he was experiencing but he didn't want to admit it to himself. Not because Kurt was married, but because he was supposed to be happy with his life. Because he wasn't supposed to want. He had his music. He had his friends. His relationships were always dots on a timeline and that had never bothered him before.

He felt an obligation – to who, he had no idea – to present himself as one neat little package, predictable but not boring, reliable but not uptight. As someone who knew himself, as someone who did things intentionally, as someone who took the right risks. But now, he felt like he was in a slowly sinking ship, a mistake that nothing but circumstance could take credit for.

Maybe he was more insecure than he thought. The thought of marrying someone for security alone suddenly didn't sound so outrageous. The idea of never finding someone to love the rest of his life…

He chanced another glance at Kurt and Sebastian. Their fingers were tangled together.

…yes. That still scared him more than anything else.

* * *

**A/N: I need some good Klaine songs for the next chapter. Anybody have any ideas? If so, shoot me a PM or tell me in a review. Thanks so much!**


	4. Chapter 4

Once again, Kurt and Blaine found themselves drinking strong French-press coffee in the kitchen.

Kurt flipped through a book of 1920's Vogue covers while Blaine watched a football game. Sometimes Kurt wrinkled his nose and mumbled about the drug addictions the designers back then must have had, and occasionally Blaine made an indignant remark about a referee. Sebastian wasn't home yet and Blaine had come over even earlier than usual, something that neither of them commented on.

"We're acting like an old married couple," said Blaine, opening up the fridge while the ads played.

"A fabulous old married couple," said Kurt, not looking up. "And _you_ are raiding my fridge."

"I'm hungry," Blaine said defensively. "Coffee isn't my usual football food."

"There's leftover nachos in the back and there's beer in the garage," laughed Kurt. "Want to fix the squeaky sound in my car while you're at it?"

"It's probably one of the belts," Blaine said absently.

Kurt glanced up from his book. "Are you sure you're gay?"

Blaine gestured to his lake-blue skinny jeans and Kurt shrugged in concession.

When he finished flipping through his book, he sat with Blaine at the counter and watched the game.

"So, what does the yellow line do?" he asked.

"If the players cross it, they get a first down," Blaine explained.

"What's a first down?"

"Well, you have four downs each play, and if you use more than that, the other team gets the ball."

"Why do people get excited over the first down if they have four?"

"Just watch the game."

A minute passed.

"Blaine?"

"Yes?"

"Why are they cheering?"

* * *

Finn walked to the mailbox, tugging his flannel jacket more tightly around him. It was chilly, but the sun was out and the frost crackled under his feet just the right way. It was a good day to walk the dog and come back home to soup. But he'd left his dog – and the chance of good soup – with his last girlfriend. He loved his mom. Everything that he did was for her, for better or worse, but he missed a normal life. Carole insisted that he live the life he envisioned, not the life he had, but he couldn't be in two places at once.

He opened the mailbox and flipped through the letters. Three of them were from the Smythe Corporation. He smiled tightly and smacked the stack of letters against his palm before he went back inside. The letters from the Smythe Corporation went in a shoebox under his bed. He told his mom everything was all right now, that they would be left alone. He knew this wasn't true. The regular appearance of letters was unsettling enough. The fact that he caught a glimpse of the blonde woman every single day, no matter where he was, made him think he had a laser on his back.

He peeked his head into the living room, where Carole was curled up on the couch with a cup of coffee and a Sudoku book.

"I'm going to walk to the park, Mom."

"Do you feel up to it? You're still limping."

He shook his foot out and shrugged. "I'll be careful with it." He hesitated. "Mom?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I walk Henry?"

They both glanced at the small terrier, who was curled up in a sun spot.

"He's pretty old, Finn."

"Yeah, but I have to go slow. I miss walking a dog."

Carole smiled warmly. "Yeah. Of course." She clicked her tongue against her teeth. "Henry!"

The dog looked up drowsily. Finn patted his leg and Henry trotted up to him, grinning a little dog grin and wagging his whole body back and forth. Finn held back a smile and went out the door with Henry behind him.

* * *

Artie sat at his computer, watching Carole Hudson move around the duplex, straightening magazines and calling her girlfriends.

He didn't know what to do.

He had learned a lot at the party. Blaine had been hired as a piano player at the Smythe's house and knew Finn from high school. They watched sports together. It was only a matter of time before Finn told Blaine what Sebastian's business really did, and it was anyone's guess what Blaine would do with that information. He might go to the police. He might not for Tina's sake. He might confront Sebastian about it and end up floating in some aqueduct. He might do nothing.

But it couldn't be allowed to get to that point. Artie was obligated to tell Sebastian that Finn and Blaine knew each other before anything messy happened. But Blaine was his friend, or his wife's friend at the very least. And maybe he wasn't thrilled that Tina didn't know better. Maybe he wasn't happy that Blaine knew things about Tina that he didn't know. But she was exhausting and Blaine made her happy. Sometimes it was easier to give a crying child some ice cream than it was to explain that sugar makes teeth rot.

Artie swirled the cold, oily coffee that was left in the bottom of his cup.

He didn't know what to do.

* * *

"I wasn't _actually_ hinting that I wanted you to fix my car!"

Kurt shivered in the garage, pulling his cardigan tight around him, and watched Blaine disappear under the hood of his BMW.

"I don't mind!" Blaine called. "I'm kind of nervous though."

"Why is that?"

"Because this car costs more than my life's savings," he said, voice muffled. "Actually, I think the shoes you're wearing are more than my life's savings – ah!"

"What do you see?"

"The belt's really old. Do you have an extra one?"

Kurt sighed. "Not the kind that goes in a car."

"Well, you probably shouldn't drive it," Blaine said, straightening up and wiping his hands on the rag he had tucked into his back pocket.

Kurt folded his arms, smirking, and Blaine glanced down at himself.

"What?" he asked. "Is there something on my shirt?"

"No. You just look like Danny Zuko, that's all."

Blaine looked down, a smile working on his lips. Then he shut the hood with a clap and whipped his head towards the car.

"Why, this car could be systematic—"

"Blaine!"

"—hyrdomatic!—"

"Stop it!"

"—ultramatic! Why, it could be grea—"

Kurt shoved Blaine against the car and they both slid to the floor, laughing.

"What was that for?"

"For being a dork!"

"You told me I looked like Danny Zuko!"

"That doesn't mean you should start singing like an idiot!"

"I thought it would make you laugh!"

"It did!" Kurt smiled, catching his hand before it jumped to Blaine's hair. "It did."

* * *

Finn stopped at each pile of damp leaves, at each napkin that missed a trashcan, at each suspicious mound of grass. He had never walked so slowly. He had never met a dog that needed to sniff so many different things.

The sun was higher in the sky, even warmer, and for a moment, it felt like he could just fall into the morning and leave the rest of the world behind. Then he noticed the blond woman.

She was sitting on a nearby bench, wearing a light brown suit and reading the paper through boxy sunglasses. Finn set his jaw, prepared to walk by, but Henry had other ideas. He trotted up to the bench, extendable leash reeling, and sniffed the woman's shoe. Finn's mouth went dry when the woman looked straight at him.

"H-hi," he said, voice garbled.

The woman removed her glasses, exposing soft, expressive eyes. She smiled slightly.

"Hi there."

Finn gave what he hoped was a conclusive nod and walked away, tugging the dog behind him. Then, for a reason he couldn't explain, he turned around and sat on the bench.

"Just so you know," he said kindly, "most people don't wear sunglasses when they read the paper."

"Well, I do. The sun was reflecting on it."

"You can drop the whole FBI thing. I see you almost every day."

Her nose wrinkled, but then her shoulders sunk and she folded the glasses in her fingers. She held out her hand. "I'm Quinn."

"I'm—"

"I know. I know who you are."

"It's kind of cold for you to be sitting out here all the time," said Finn, moving his foot over so that the dog had room to sit. "Isn't it usually some big scary guy that does this?"

"We're running low on big scary guys," she explained, laughing like a million tiny seashells, "so my boss made me follow you. My boss is an ass."

"Yeah," Finn said distantly. "I think so, too."

Quinn's lips worked in thought and she finally said, "I really can't talk to you, you know. I can't tell you anything."

Finn played with his hands and gave a disappointed smile. "I figured. I just…"

"It's not really my choice," Quinn went on. "I'm just a lawyer, and if I had my way, none of this would have happened."

"I guess that's better than nothing," Finn replied, getting up and coaxing the dog. "Have a nice day. Quinn."

"You too. Finn."

* * *

Kurt had just put a tray of sweet potato fries into the oven – he didn't know why he bought sweet potatoes, he deeply resented their sickly orange color – when the lights went out. He punched his finger against the light switch, but nothing happened. He glowered at Blaine, who was holding a bottle of olive oil, and huffed.

"Fuck."

"Hey, hey," said Blaine. "It's just a power outage."

Kurt glanced outside and could see from the faint moonlight that snow was accumulating. He left the room and reappeared a moment later, setting a heavy lantern on the table between him and Blaine. When he flipped the switch, he laughed at the shadows on Blaine's face.

"We should tell ghost stories," he suggested. "Or reveal all of our intimate secrets. Or finish these sweet potatoes…"

"Sweet potatoes can be intimate," Blaine said, picking one up and looking at it importantly. "When I was fourteen—"

"I was kidding about the intimate secrets!"

Blaine gave him puppy-dog eyes and put the sweet potato down with a thump.

"Fine," said Kurt, sliding a knife over to him. "You can tell me what happened when you were fourteen if you help me with these."

"Deal," Blaine replied, stabbing the sweet potato. "When I was fourteen, I paid a girl twenty dollars to kiss me so I could figure out if I was gay or not."

"I wouldn't think you would need to pay anyone to kiss you, gay or straight. Let's see…." Kurt hummed to himself in thought "…when _I_ was fourteen…I wrote research papers for the entire football team."

"And you did that because…?"

Kurt shrugged. "It was in exchange for a week of peace. I got thrown into dumpsters a lot."

"Me too!" Blaine said. "One time I got tuna salad in my hair."

"I would have cried. So was that girl your first kiss?"

"Yes, but I told myself it didn't count."

"That sounds like me. My first kiss was a girl, too." Kurt tossed a few sweet potato pieces into a bowl. "When was your first kiss that counted?"

"When I was eighteen, with my first real boyfriend, you know. What was your first real boyfriend like?"

"My first real boyfriend was Sebastian," Kurt answered. "I wasn't really the relationship type."

"You married your first boyfriend but you weren't the relationship type?"

"I went to clubs and fooled around a lot before I met him. And after I met him. But then it was just him I was fooling around with." Kurt flourished the end of his knife. "What about you? Were you the relationship type?"

"I guess so," Blaine replied. "I never let myself go to clubs. I'm not very good at control."

"Sometimes I wonder if I went to those clubs because I was afraid of actually caring about someone I met. I lost both my parents before I was 16 and after that it was just…it was hard to..." Kurt stopped himself. "I'm sorry. I should make you listen to that."

"It's okay," said Blaine. "Really. I lost my mom. I know what it's like. If you ever want to talk…"

Kurt stared at him like he was a new species. "I would love that."

* * *

Sebastian tapped his steering wheel impatiently and craned to see what was going on. There were fifty cars in front of him, lights gleaming red; a horn sounded, long and low in the cold air, and he shut off his car with a scowl. It would be hours before he was home.

He knew what was wrong. It was always the same thing, a bit stronger and sharper in the cold, cramped car, but the same. It was Kurt. The truth was, he loved coming home; he loved wrapping his arms around Kurt while he did the dishes for the millionth thankless time; he loved how soft his forearms were and the fact that his hair smelled like almonds; he loved how he laughed at nothing; he loved the weekend hours on the couch when neither of them could find the will to get up.

He wasn't like Kurt. He didn't have realizations. He knew when he met Kurt that he would end up sitting in a freezing car, hating himself for being weak and dishonest. He knew when he met him that he would have to, and would never be able to, get over him.

He had never told Kurt he loved him. And this was fine for a long time. For a long time, the pangs weren't intolerable. But the cold, motionless car brought out a kind of longing he wasn't used to, a temptation to be honest, to go home and say the three words they weren't allowed to say.

He wished he had taken a risk. If he had said it when they met, it wouldn't bother him now. But he was too afraid that they would grow apart. He was too afraid of need. He was too afraid of grief. He wished he had known that the need and grief would come regardless of how he devised the relationship. He didn't know why he thought labeling the relationship loveless would immunize him.

He rested his head in the cradle of the wheel and fought off the headache that Fabray had planted, like a poisonous kiss, earlier in the day. It would be so easy to go home and pretend that he and Kurt had a normal relationship, but that just wasn't good enough anymore.

The traffic skulked slowly forward, like a beaten animal. Sebastian started his car.

* * *

Finn had been out all day, drinking coffee, watching the dog chase squirrels, dreaming of soup and wondering if Quinn was any good at making it. It was nearly dark by the time he walked back up the path to his front door. His fingers were trembling pleasantly in the cold and he could barely get the latch of the door open. It was this moment's hesitation that made him glance up.

There, attached to the door, was a small sheet of paper. He didn't have to pick it up to see what the blocky black letters spelled. It was an eviction notice.

* * *

Quinn ran her fingers through her wet hair, music pulsing in the foggy bathroom. She had been standing in the shower for over an hour, staring at the swirling floral pattern under her feet. She knew she shouldn't have talked to Finn Hudson. A smaller, smarter part of her knew that she would have talked to him eventually. Rebellion had been brewing in her longer than she liked to think about.

She had what she needed to be a lioness. Beauty, brains, confidence, a position of power. But she didn't want to dazzle, she didn't care about power and she didn't need money. She was good at her job. She was perfect at it. But she didn't want it, and as the water poured over her face, as she stretched her hands into the misty air…reaching…reaching…she realized that these were the only things Sebastian could ever offer her. She didn't have a replacement yet, no new passion. But her inherent dislike of Sebastian was stronger than it ever had been, and that was something.

* * *

Blaine sat down lightly at the piano and glanced over at Kurt, who was lying sideways on an armchair, reading a French newspaper. His brow was wrinkled in concentration, his feet dancing lightly. He wondered if this was what Kurt did all day, consuming himself in little pictures and important articles, learning more and more about what he was missing.

"You read French?"

"Oui," said Kurt softly. "What about you?"

"Italian sometimes. It comes and goes."

Kurt glanced up to say something, and then he smiled. "Are you going to play?"

"Oh." Blaine looked down at the keys. "I was, actually. I got distracted."

Kurt's mouth twitched in a smile and he got up and walked over to the piano. He sat down next to Blaine.

"What would you like to hear?" Blaine asked, unsure why he was so out of breath.

"Anything," Kurt answered. Was he blushing? "Anything you play has to be beautiful."

Blaine rested his fingers on the keys and began to play a slow, swirling piece. It was like a penny sinking in a fountain.

"What's it called?" Kurt asked, watching Blaine's fingers, certain but soft.

"Pathetique," said Blaine, still playing. "If you want to learn it, I could teach you."

"You've been playing for years. I'm sure it's too complicated for me…"

Blaine didn't hesitate when he took Kurt's hand, and maybe it was this, maybe it was the way his eyes suddenly deepened, but it was then that Kurt realized.

_He likes me._

_He likes me a lot._

_I think he's in love with me_.

Kurt's eyes were like globes asBlaine arranged his fingers on the keys, and maybe it was this, maybe it was the way his skin prickled, but Blaine suddenly knew.

_He's beautiful._

_He's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen._

_I think I'm in love with him._

They looked at each other and Kurt's eyelids fluttered in agitation; he breathed out slowly, lips parted, throat jumping for words that he couldn't find. Blaine silently pressed his finger against a key and the noise startled him enough that he looked back at the piano.

"What note is that?" he managed.

"An F#," said Blaine, taking his hand away. "Just keep going, the E, the D…"

"Where are those?" Kurt asked.

Blaine pointed. "Right there. That's the E and that's the D."

"Maybe you could put your hand back on mine. I might learn faster…like dancing on your feet."

_What am I doing?_

_I'm married._

_This is wrong._

Blaine's touch burned out his thoughts.

* * *

Sebastian didn't get home until 2 am. He had been on the road all night, creeping a few icy feet and stopping, creeping and stopping. He got into bed next to Kurt, hugging and kissing him until he grumbled and threw a sleepy punch.

"I'm trying to sleep!"

"So much for that."

"You're an asshole," Kurt said in a serious tone before rolling over and kissing Sebastian squarely on the mouth. "What time is it?"

"I don't know. Late. There was an accident on 270." Sebastian rubbed his eyes. "Weren't we supposed to have dinner with Blaine? Did he show up?"

"He left a long time ago."

"How did he get back to Columbus?"

"His dad lives in Westerville. He's staying with him."

Sebastian nodded, pulling Kurt closer. Kurt smiled broadly and rubbed his thumb over the wrinkles under his husband's eyes.

"I feel like I hardly ever see you," he said softly.

"I know. I feel the same way."

They were quiet for a moment, playing with each other's fingers in the dark.

"I know I'm not around a lot," Sebastian said finally. "I always tell you there's no avoiding it, but that's almost never true. It's my choice, a bad one, and it's not fair to you."

Kurt wrinkled his brow, the movement of his fingers slowing. "Sebastian…"

"I want to take you on a date tomorrow."

"What?"

"I want to take you out to dinner. I want to make up for everything."

"I think you're going to have to make dinner, since we're snowed in."

"I'll make dinner, then. We'll put on music. We can dance in the living room."

Kurt nodded. "That sounds nice."

Sebastian smiled and kissed him again. "You can go back to sleep now. Unless you don't want to."

"Oh, good try," said Kurt, snuggling back into the pillows.

* * *

Artie sat at his makeshift desk in the living room, watching the snowy streets and the flickering, rosy-colored porch light. He had stared at the tiny dotted line for over an hour, but his resignation sat in front of him, still unsigned.

It stayed that way until morning.

* * *

**A/N: Unsurprisingly, Kurt has TWO gorgeous men in love with him. A Sebklaine fic would have been so much simpler! But hey, I'm just not a threesome kind of girl.**

**Drop me a review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry this took so long guys! I'm back in school and my all nighters have to go towards homework, not writing. Rated M for M/M sex and language. So no one panics, Klaine has arrived. Just stick with the chapter till the end.**

**Reviews will brighten my day. And I live in Maine. And we're having an ice storm. So bright days are important.**

* * *

Blaine tuned his guitar in the corner of a Columbus restaurant, an unknown Italian place with sticky vinyl curtains and a beer menu that only offered Bud. He played there every Tuesday. No one paid much attention to him – occasionally someone would request a song – but he was left alone for the most part, like an extra table or a stack of chairs. He didn't mind. It was actually the disguised solitude that he played that restaurant for. Some people would go crazy, he thought, if they still felt alone in a crowd, but he liked it. It was his thinking place.

He sipped on his cherry soda and drummed on the side of the guitar. He did love it. It wasn't that he didn't. But, God, he couldn't concentrate tonight. It wasn't unusually crowded or hot. He wasn't sick. But his brain felt warped and fuzzy, like something kept plunking on the back of it.

A thought. It was just a thought. It didn't matter if he didn't act on it. But he couldn't help thinking it, and thoughts turned into actions too quickly with him.

The poor little thought didn't have any good options. It was stuck in friendless limbo. It reminded him of Finn, who would sometimes look hopelessly at the sky and say, "Seriously, Dude?"

He plucked at the strings of his guitar, but the vibration didn't startle any kind of life into him. He patted the guitar once more, consoling, and left. He tried not to play when he was heartbroken. It made whoever had broken his heart real. It validated his emotions and gave him ideas. He really didn't need any more ideas right now.

He drove home and collapsed on the couch, hands folded lightly on his chest, and stared at the piano until he fell asleep. The doorbell rang an hour later.

It was Finn and Carole. They had luggage, and Carole was crying.

* * *

Sebastian dragged a knife across a cup of flour, frowning at the indentation it made.

"Have you ever done that before?" Kurt asked, smirking over a glass of red wine.

"I told you I wasn't going to cook if you watched me the whole time," Sebastian replied, dumping the flour back in the bag.

"We're going to go hungry if I don't watch you," said Kurt.

Sebastian sighed, holding up the knife and the flour imploringly. Kurt grinned in triumph.

"Use the other side of the knife, numbskull," he said.

Sebastian shot him a look, but scooped up another cupful of flour and leveled it off with the flat side of the knife. He stared at the perfect plane of flour. Kurt was barely able to hold in a giggle at Sebastian's look of dawning comprehension.

"Shut up, Kurt," said Sebastian, tipping the flour into a bowl. "It's not like you're good at everything."

"I'm good at more things than you," Kurt retorted. "Watching you at the store was unbelievable. Where's the milk? Where do they keep lemons? Do they sell baking powder? I couldn't take it. When was the last time you shopped for groceries?"

"College," he said shortly, turning on the stove.

"Our relationship is embarrassingly 1950's heterosexual," replied Kurt. "You come home from your demanding job, and I'm waiting for you with dinner and alcohol and sex."

"At least I'm not bagging secretaries."

"You better not be."

"They're all women."

"I hope that wasn't precautionary."

"It wasn't," Sebastian said, straightening up from the stove. "I like you, babe. I like you and no one else."

Kurt smiled slightly. "Tell me why."

"Tell you why what?"

"Tell me why you like me."

Sebastian scrunched up his nose, reaching for a slotted spoon. "You know why I—"

"I want to hear it anyway. This is a date."

"It's not exactly a —"

"You're supposed to sweep me off my feet again," Kurt said, walking close to Sebastian and setting his wine down. "You're supposed to make me want you."

The words hung off his tongue like drops of sugar. Sebastian's grip on the spoon faltered a little, Adam's apple jumping.

"Um…"

"What happened to the man I met in that club, hmm?" asked Kurt, raising a brow and brushing his knee lightly against Sebastian's. "You remember what your first words to me were, right?"

"'I can picture us together,'" replied Sebastian. "I don't know why I said something that—"

"It was sexy," Kurt interrupted. He moved a little closer, stretching so his mouth was almost on Sebastian's. "Tell me why you like me."

"I like you…" he breathed, "…because you know me, because you know what to say…I like your voice…the way you laugh…I like how gorgeous you are, how you try to hide it and never quite can…I like your obsessions…I like the way you complain when I wake you up in the middle of the night…I like that you defend me when I'm wrong…I like those pants…I like that you still jump when I touch you…I like that you're there for me when you shouldn't be…I like how smart you are…and how sexy you are…I like how you only want to be with me. I love your eyes."

Kurt didn't miss the word change. There was a momentary pause, a bubble of hesitation. Then they kissed, exchanging a different kind of energy, hands so needy they almost felt starved.

_He said he loves my eyes._

They kept kissing, backing out of the kitchen, laughing and breathless.

_I must have heard that wrong._

Sebastian looked into his eyes for the briefest second.

_I think he's in love with me._

Kurt leaned against Sebastian and his feet lead them into a kind of dance. They rotated around the living room, drifting without a pattern and laughing at themselves.

"What are we doing?" asked Kurt.

"Dancing," murmured Sebastian, kissing his ear softly.

"This isn't dancing. I took twelve years of ballet, and this isn't dancing."

"It's our kind of dancing."

Kurt smiled and kissed him lightly. "Our dancing is uncoordinated. We would get a low score."

"You wouldn't. Everything you do is beautiful."

Kurt looked down and blushed.

"Really," Sebastian went on. "You're like watching one of those floating lanterns."

Kurt giggled, a sound Sebastian thought could probably cure world hunger, and mumbled, "What's with you?"

"What?"

"You never say things like that."

"I'm trying to be a better person."

"I don't need you to be a better person for me."

"But I want to be," Sebastian said softly. "You're my husband. I-"

Kurt kissed him. Every sensation was oversaturated, colors playing on the back of their eyelids. It was like falling backwards, the moment when you realize you can't catch yourself, the swoop in your stomach. They kept winding around the living room, like musical chairs. When they stopped, one of them would have to speak.

Kurt wanted to say it, but he didn't think he could. Because if Sebastian didn't love him? He wasn't sure he could keep breathing if Sebastian didn't love him.

* * *

"Finn, slow down!"

Finn was apologizing frantically over the sound of Carole's sobs. Blaine stood in front of them, holding a glass of water and trying to calm them down.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," Blaine went on. "Just slow down. Have some water."

Carole wailed. Finn passed his hand over his face, accepted the glass of water and drank it greedily. Blaine looked back and forth between him and Carole, and then sat down on the couch with them.

"Just take your time. You don't have to say anything if you don't wan-"

"We lost the house."

Blaine faltered. "Wh-what?"

Finn shrugged. "Couldn't keep up with the payments."

"But you were doing fine, you-" Blaine's eyes widened. "Is this about what you did with your dad's business?"

"I, um, I had to sell it. So it wasn't my property when I burned it down. So I owe them a lot of money."

"Who? The Smythes? I've met both of them, I'm sure you could explain-"

Finn shook his head fiercely. "I can't. It was my fault. It's not them. I don't want you to think it's them."

Blaine's eyes drifted to Finn's bandaged leg, then to Carole, who was sitting up perfectly still and straight, like a child on a church bench. He opened his mouth to speak, but Finn stopped him.

"Don't think about it, Blaine," he said. "Leave it alone. It's me."

Blaine nodded reluctantly. "Do you want something to drink? Some coffee?"

Carole shook her head; Finn made no gesture at all, staring into the corner.

Blaine swallowed hard. "OK. I'm just, I'll go get some blankets."

He started away, but Finn's voice caught him. "Blaine?"

He turned around. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

* * *

Kurt rinsed the last plate and put it into the drying rack. Sebastian wrapped his arms around him from behind.

"C'mere," he said, fingers trailing over Kurt's abdomen. "I want to show you something."

Kurt pressed towards his touch and Sebastian pulled him away from the sink, leaving the water running. They stepped into the living room, which looked identical.

"Where is it?"

"It's not an it," Sebastian said, stretching to reach the speakers, while keeping one hand on Kurt. Music started to play softly and Sebastian raised his eyebrows. "Do you remember? The first time you slept over here? I played this album and we-"

Kurt tackled him to the couch. They undressed as fast as their fingers could learn the buttons and zippers of each other's clothing, kissing soft and rough and needy. They fell onto the floor together, and Kurt's laugh echoed off the ceiling.

They stayed together an unusually long time, every movement unusually careful; they talked more than ever before, actually talked, affectionate, reinforcing phrases, single words that seemed to fill the room like intoxicating fog. Sebastian always told himself that he could avoid a collision, that he would be able to hide that he loved Kurt, that it would never come up in conversation. But now it was hanging in the air between them.

He left what he felt unsaid.

* * *

Blaine woke up with a start. Before he had wiped the sleep out of his eyes, he was at the door, forming excuses for Tina. They were supposed to have coffee, like every Sunday, and things wouldn't have been so dire except that it was Tina and Tina was married to Artie and Artie worked for The Smythe Corporation.

"Hi - Tina - um - my alarm - will you give me a few minutes?"

Tina glanced around his apartment, eyes lingering on the luggage and unfamiliar shoes.

"Is this a bad time?" she asked uncertainly.

"Um - yeah - my last boyfriend - I backslid - I'm kicking him out this time, I swear."

"Backslid? _Backslid!? _Blaine! _Lucas? _That was like, Rihanna and Chris Brown, Blaine! It was the ugliest breakup in the history of-"

Blaine motioned for her to be quiet. "He might hear you!"

Tina set her mouth in resignation. "Fine. I will be back in exactly one hour, and he better be out of your life."

"He will be."

Tina left and Blaine nearly slid down the wall in relief. Then Finn's voice broke through the air.

"Who's Lucas?"

* * *

Kurt woke up the next morning to another foot of snow; he reached his hand out to find Sebastian, but it only brushed cool sheets. He got up with a shiver, shook off his sleep and wandered into the kitchen; Sebastian was, like every morning, working with the coffee machine.

"Need some help?" Kurt asked softly, nestling against him from behind. "I know how much you struggle with the kitchen."

"The stove was still on when I woke up," Sebastian replied, turning into a kiss. "And the pasta was stuck to the bottom, burning…"

"Of course it was." Kurt smiled. "It's okay. Last night was perfect." He frowned when he noticed Sebastian's clothing. "Are you going to work?"

"I have to. I didn't want to, believe me. I wanted to spend the rest of the day with you. But I'll get home as early as I can."

Kurt pressed against Sebastian in another kiss. His mouth automatically curved into a smile, residual endorphins from last night, and he rolled the fabric of Sebastian's shirt between his fingers.

"It's okay," he said. "I'll be here when you get back."

"Kurt, I-"

Sebastian's voice died suddenly, like he had to cut himself short. Kurt squinted, looking into his eyes, and gave him a soft squeeze of concern.

"Are you okay, Bas?"

"I have a lot to do," he said quickly.

Kurt shifted on his feet and took Sebastian's hands. He tried to steady his breath. "Listen," he said carefully. "Last night felt really different to me, and I told myself it wasn't anything. But I saw it in you too. And..." He looked into Sebastian's bright blue eyes. "...I think I'm in love with you."

They stared at each other, grips tightening unconsciously. Kurt could see the hope play on Sebastian's eyes; he could also see the fear overtake it, like a fire retreating in a rear-view mirror.

"Is that going to be a problem?" he asked, almost inaudibly.

"Yeah, that's going to be a problem."

* * *

It was a chase, a mad, probably useless one. Kurt was screaming and Sebastian was backing up, holding his hands out to protect himself.

"You coward! You fucking coward!"

"I didn't do any-"

Kurt slammed his palms against Sebastian's chest and pushed him against their bedroom wall. "You're lying!"

"I was telling the truth," Sebastian said coldly. "I don't love you."

"I don't believe you!" Kurt shouted. He pulled Sebastian forward and knocked him against the wall to the rhythm of his words. "You never tell the truth! You think I can't tell! You-"

Sebastian pushed Kurt off of him and dug his wallet out of his pocket. He shoved it into Kurt's hand. "There."

Kurt was momentarily stunned. Then he set his jaw, took a fifty out of the wallet, and dropped to his knees. He began to unzip Sebastian's pants. Sebastian tried to fight him off.

"What are you doing?!"

"What you want!"

Sebastian kneed Kurt in the chest and he went sprawling into the hallway. He got to his feet and went at Sebastian again. Sebastian tried to push him away, but Kurt bit his thumb, drawing blood.

"What is wrong with you? Sebastian shouted, hitting him across the face. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Kurt stumbled back a little, holding his jaw. Then he flew at Sebastian. They fought until they were breathless and wincing, and then they went at each other again. It was a game, predator and prey, though neither were sure which one they were; they only knew what would happen if they lost.

"You're just a scared little boy!" Kurt spat, ducking. "That's why you have everything set up! This house, your job, me! Actually living scares the hell out of you!"

"And it doesn't scare you?" Sebastian snorted. "Why did you marry me? Because you loved me?"

"No! I didn't love you then, and I don't now! But I did last night, many times before last night, and I gave everything up to feel that way!""

"What did you give up exactly?"

"I gave up my life, Sebastian, my _life_, and if you don't know what that means, you don't deserve me at all."

"What was your life worth?" Sebastian asked, dropping his hands. "You were a mess, a pathetic slut with—"

Kurt slapped him and they fought again, but the light in Sebastian's eyes had changed. Kurt began to back up slowly, protecting his face. Sebastian trapped him against a table.

At the last second, Kurt grabbed a bottle of lube and squirted the contents onto Sebastian's face. Sebastian shouted in disgust and tried to wipe his eyes. Kurt ran into the bathroom and locked the door.

"What is wrong with you? What the hell is wrong with you?" The door rattled. "Open the door!"

"Go fuck yourself!"

Sebastian threw his whole weight against the door. "Open it!"

"Get out! Go to work!"

Sebastian hit the door once more, but it wasn't as threatening as before, and Kurt heard his footsteps retreat a moment later.

He breathed out for what felt like the first time in ten minutes and looked into the mirror. His lip was bleeding. He fished around in the cabinet for a cotton ball, pressed it to his lip, and then slid to the floor. He looked around the bathroom listlessly for a moment, and then he hid his face in his knees and rocked back and forth.

* * *

Tina clicked her fingers at the waitress for more coffee. She leaned excitedly towards Blaine and grinned.

"This is a beautiful restaurant! You didn't have to do this!"

"I wanted to make it up to you," Blaine said with a shrug.

Tina smirked. "I guess you did have to. Blaine, _Lucas_?"

"I don't want to talk about Lucas," Blaine said, cringing a little at all the little lies. "I was drunk. He was wearing those pants."

"Oh," Tina said thoughtfully. "Those pants." Then she giggled and clicked her nails on her glass of orange juice. "You have no self control!"

"Nope, absolutely none," Blaine said vacantly. Then he glanced up. "How's Artie?"

Tina frowned. "He's fine."

"How's his job going?"

"Oh, you know," she said through a bite of toast. "His boss is a sadist." She suddenly brightened. "That business with the guy you know is really heating up! He disappeared last night."

Blaine felt himself turn green. "Where did he go?"

"I don't know." Tina buttered a muffin, no care in the world. "Wherever he is, they'll find him."

"What does that mean?"

"They always find runners."

"What happens then?"

"I'm not sure. All I know is that it stresses Artie out. It makes him feel guilty." Tina put down her muffin, as if observing a moment of silence. "I worry about him with that job."

Then she picked the muffin back up. Blaine nursed his thin coffee, thinking about French presses and Kurt.

"So," Tina said in a loopy, coaxing voice, "any new guys you like?"

Blaine looked down to hide a grin. "There is one guy. He's a-" he had to improvise wildly, "-a barista."

"Is he cute?"

"He's gorgeous."

"Gorgeous?"

"Gorgeous. He's the most gorgeous man I've ever met."

"Does he like you?" Tina's voice wavered a bit at this point, but Blaine didn't notice.

"Well, there's a small problem."

"Don't say he's straight."

"No. He's married."

"What?" Tina leaned forward, orange juice sloshing. "Blaine! Has anything happened?"

"Not...exactly."

"Oh my God." Tina leaned back, mouth open in an expression of pure horror. "Blaine, you have to end it."

"There is no it. I just - we've held hands, that's all. And his marriage is, well, it's not really a marriage at all."

"That doesn't matter! He made a promise!"

"His husband is abusive."

"Then he should get a divorce!"

"He can't. He would have nothing."

"Blaine." Tina sounded pitying. "Blaine, you can't."

"You would understand if you knew him." The lies were almost too much. "Please don't judge me, T."

"I don't understand you sometimes, Blaine." Tina smiled through tears. She wasn't crying because he didn't love her. It was because she expected him to. Because she was pathetic. "Thanks for breakfast, but I think, I think I'm going to go."

"Tina-"

But she had already gotten to her feet.

* * *

When Sebastian walked into his office, Quinn was waiting for him with a folder. She paled at his appearance.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," he said tiredly, opening up his bottom desk drawer and pulling out a new shirt.

"What happened?" she demanded, pulling him straight. "If this involved an associate you need to-" She wrinkled her nose. "What's that smell?"

"It's lube," Sebastian said roughly. "Tell me what's going on with Hudson."

"You came to work covered in lube and you want me to tell you about Hudson?"

"That's right." Sebastian pulled off his shirt and put on the new one. "Where is he?"

"We don't know," Quinn said. She settled into a chair and ran her fingers through her hair; a shaky breath escaped her lips. "I told you not to pursue this. I'm your lawyer, you should have-"

"Be quiet. I'm not going to negotiate with you today." Sebastian sat down at his desk. "Get Karofksy to find Hudson. Talk to Abrams."

"I did that," Quinn said, holding back unexpected tears. "I did all that and—"

"If you're going to fall apart, go home. If not, get Karofsky for me."

"I'm not your secretary," Quinn snapped, getting up. "And I am going home. I'm not helping you on this case today."

"If you walk out that door—"

"You'll what?" Quinn simpered, eyes bright with anger. "Fire me?" She shook her head. "No more threats. Unfortunately, we need each other."

* * *

Kurt drove towards downtown Columbus, trying to get his tears under control. He tried breathing; he tried not breathing. He finally stopped out of sheer exhaustion. When he pulled up behind the boutique he and his high school friend Mercedes ran together, he went in the back door.

He found Mercedes organizing merchandise, a goddess in a blue dress. When she looked up, her bottom lip fell a mile.

"Kurt," she said desolately. "Kurt, what—"

He burst into a half-crazed smile. "I don't want to talk about it. I'm done with all of it. Just put me to work."

She hesitated and then held out a clipboard. "You could help me chart…?"

He took the clipboard and walked at a fast pace into one of the storerooms. Mercedes watched his slim figure disappear among a thousand boxes and felt her heart constrict. She had watched that boy stumble through a thousand boxes before.

She met him when he was sixteen, just after his parents had died. His strength was what drew her to him, but it wasn't because she admired it. It was because she mistrusted it. And as she grew closer to him, she could see flickers of what was underneath, little pockets of blackness. It wasn't until she found him in the girl's bathroom with a bottle of pills that he confided everything in her. She became his friend and he became her project. She tried to make him healthy. And he was better around her, but there was still a fault-line buried deep. She couldn't get him to matter to himself. And while giving up that hope was the hardest thing she had ever gone through, she could only be beside his deathbed so many times. In the end, it was easier to let go than to keep hoping.

Kurt reappeared from the storeroom. He crossed to the other room without a word. Mercedes swallowed the lump in her throat and went to the counter.

* * *

Tina hung her keys and jacket up and went towards her room, needing a long cry. She had just made it to the hallway when Artie's voice interrupted her.

"Tina, can you come in here? I want to talk to you."

Tina took a sharp breath and prayed her voice was sweet enough. "One second!"

She found Artie at his computer. He turned his chair around and smiled – it was still comforting, his smile. She leaned close to him and he put his hands on her waist.

"Did you have a nice breakfast?" he asked.

She nodded. "We went to a new place."

He frowned. "Have you been crying?"

"No, no – winter allergies. How are you doing?"

"Oh, fine. There's just this one thing that's been weighing on me..."

"Another job problem?"

"Kind of." He nudged a chair closer for her to sit in. "It's actually a job problem because it _isn't _a job problem."

Tina sat down, setting her face. "Okay. Go on."

"So, we've always known that Blaine knows Finn," Artie began, and Tina jumped at Blaine's name. "And it wouldn't be a problem, really, but now that Finn's disappeared…"

"What?" Tina urged, a chill spreading over her chest. "Blaine won't get hurt, will he?"

"I don't think so. But you know how thorough Sebastian is."

"But Blaine doesn't know where Finn is!"

"It may not matter now," Artie said evenly. "Sebastian will find out that Finn and Blaine are friends, and I would rather have it be from me—"

"Artie!"

"—than from one of his informants. I would lose my job – maybe more than that – and Blaine could lose even more."

Tina burst into tears. "You can't tell him about Blaine! You can't! N-not, please not Blaine!"

Artie's eyes widened. "Tina –what – why—why are you crying?"

"He's our friend, Artie! Our FRIEND!"

"Tina, I'm not selling him down the river! I'm helping him!"

"You can't _know _Sebastian will find out! I would rather take the chance! I would rather—"

"Tina, Sebastian will kill him. He will kill both of them."

"What?" Tina screamed, mascara running. "What do you—?"

"I've seen him do it before," Artie said, unable to meet his wife's eyes. "You need to trust me. If, if you care about Blaine—"

But Tina wasn't listening. "Kill him? KILL him? What kind of job do you have? What kind of man do you work for?"

"A criminal!" Artie bellowed. "I'm ashamed of it, OK?"

Tina backed up, hands over her heart. Then she sprinted into their bedroom and locked the door.

* * *

Blaine walked into the small downtown boutique – _Pamela Lansbury_ – and a bell on the door sounded softly. Before he could go another foot, a woman with warm black skin and smile like mint candy greeted him.

"Welcome to Pamela Lansbury. I'm Mercedes. If you need help finding—"

"Is Kurt here?" Blaine burst out. Then he blushed. "I'm sorry. I just—"

"He's here," Mercedes said. "May I ask your name?"

"I'm Blaine."

"Just Blaine?"

"Just Blaine."

Mercedes walked into the back of the store and called, "Kurt! There's a Blaine here for you! He's cute as pie."

Blaine caught a glimpse of Kurt as Mercedes gave him the message. Something wasn't right. Mercedes returned and directed him into a storeroom. He found Kurt sitting on a cardboard box, checking off items on a clipboard.

"I joined fight club," Kurt said, looking up with a small smile.

Blaine stood very still. Then he took a seat next to Kurt and held out his hand.

Kurt stared at him for a moment before setting his clipboard aside and gently taking Blaine's hand. It was slightly rougher than Sebastian's, but that was something he liked about Blaine – his unruly hair and five o' clock shadow, his ragged jeans, the uncontained sparkle in his eyes. He was freer.

"You're probably tired of people giving you advice," Blaine said softly. "Would you mind if I complained about my life?"

"I'd love to hear you complain," Kurt told him, smiling. "Unless it's about me."

"It's not about you. There's nothing to complain about with you. But I don't really want to talk now. I guess I just needed to see your face."

"It's nice to see your face, too." Kurt's eyes watered suddenly. "Oh, Blaine."

Blaine brushed his thumb over the bruise on Kurt's cheek; Kurt caught his hand as he pulled it away and held it in his own. They looked into each other's eyes, and then Kurt pressed Blaine's hand to his chest.

They didn't have to say a word.

* * *

Sebastian sat straight and still in his office, passing a quarter back and forth over his finger tips. Quinn came in, flipping through paperwork.

"We checked Hudson's mobile phone – it's an old one, no GPS."

Sebastian made no comment.

"But we still have his number, and since he hasn't paid yet—"

"Good. Threaten him."

"And if he can't pay? We can't find him."

"Tell him we know where he is."

"He'll know we're lying."

"We'll figure that out then. He's not particularly intelligent."

Quinn's eyes grew colder. She handed Sebastian a slip of paper with Finn's phone number on it, but didn't let go. "Say please."

Sebastian tugged on the paper. "Don't be cute."

"Say please," she whispered.

Sebastian put on a saccharine, adoring voice. "Please."

Quinn let go. "You're welcome."

She walked briskly out of his office; his eyes centered on a picture of Kurt on his desk, and he went back to balancing the quarter on his fingers.

* * *

Kurt wiped off the counter top and adjusted the position of his coffee cup. He looked out the window at the frosty fields, eyes sliding out of focus with each passing minute. He watched, without really watching, birds scatter back and forth from the feeders outside. He set his coffee down, and the clink of ceramic on marble seemed to echo like a gunshot.

He had been standing there for hours, or what seemed like hours, and he hurt so much. But underneath, there was something brewing quietly, so quietly that even he had to strain to hear it. It was the whisper in an empty house, the kind of noise that keeps you awake though you know it's too small and insignificant to be dangerous. Because knowing doesn't do much when you're alone at night. You think it does. You check the doors and windows, turn on the lights, but still, you can't sleep. And still, you're alone. And even if you know where the noise is coming from, you aren't comforted. It's there, and that's all it takes. It's there, and you're awake.

Kurt took another glug of coffee. He had just wiped his lip when the doorbell rang. Blaine didn't smile at first, and neither did he. Because they knew. How could they know? But they did know, and so did the air. Acknowledgment was all around them.

"Piano lesson?" Kurt asked softly, and Blaine nodded.

Kurt took his hand and led him to the kitchen. He poured him a cup of coffee and watched him take a sip. He somehow knew Blaine's face in a way he had never known Sebastian's.

They walked over to the piano and sat down together. Kurt took a sip of Blaine's coffee and Blaine began to play. His movements once again reminded Kurt of water, a brook, the current hitting each rock a slightly different way, producing a slightly different sound. The melody slowed down, Blaine's brow wrinkling, and stopped after a moment. Blaine turned towards Kurt and opened his mouth to speak; then, without saying anything, he kissed Kurt softly on the mouth.

"I had to do that at least once."

Kurt breathed out. Then he pulled Blaine into another kiss, moving his hands over his shoulders and down his back; Blaine tugged him closer and chill ran through them like an electrical circuit. Kurt got up from the piano, preserving the kiss, and took Blaine towards his bedroom.

They fell against the door together. Blaine crushed his body against Kurt's, kissing hard, fingers tangled in his hair. Kurt fumbled blindly for the door latch and they fell into the room. They began to undress each other, touching each band of skin as it appeared. The room seemed to vibrate with the sound of fabric and kissing.

Kurt let go of Blaine for a moment to shut and lock the door, and he was suddenly terrified that the separation might break the spell, that he might do the right thing. Blaine didn't even seem tempted to reconsider. His hands were anxious, almost rough, as he pulled Kurt back against him. But Kurt didn't have the same convictions as Blaine. He never had. He wasn't as trusting or as reckless. He hadn't perfected the smart careless lifestyle like Blaine had. He was stupid careless, so much so that he became stupid careful.

The hesitancy in his mind did nothing to slow what was happening to his body. The sound of another person's breath had never reduced him to this kind of nothingness. It was like a dream, the minimalism stretching each sensation into a fever pitch, the darkness magnifying the sensitivity of his fingertips. He had never needed someone else's skin so much. Someone else's skin had never been so warm.

His ability to stop was slipping away with each passing second. It took so much courage to end something. And then it struck him. Yes. It took so much courage to end something.

He looked into Blaine's eyes. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Blaine said, just as surely.

He kissed Blaine, a firm and full kiss, and took his hands. He led him to the bed and stood before it for a second, shifting on his bare feet like a teenager. But it wasn't out of nervousness so much as infatuation. He wanted to look at Blaine for a moment. He wanted to really see him.

"Don't look too long," Blaine teased. "You might notice my tattoo."

Kurt laughed and then frowned. Blaine tugged the edge of his boxers down, revealing a tattoo of five small blackbirds trailing over his hipbone. Kurt broke into another laugh, and then kissed Blaine hungrily again. He slid Blaine's boxers completely off and pulled him onto the bed. They kissed for a moment, softly exploring each other's mouths, sounds catching in the back of their throats, and then Kurt scrunched down and kissed the five small blackbirds, one by one, while Blaine arched into him. He could feel Blaine's erection on his chest, and he couldn't resist moving down an inch or two more, teasing the hair under Blaine's bellybutton and circling the head of his cock with his tongue. He couldn't resist because he had never had someone so open underneath him; it had never been his right. And he couldn't resist because Blaine was beautiful, lit by a pattern of daylight from the blinds. He was just…strong…and supple…and it seemed like he would never run out of life. His skin was rich with color from the sun, his hands were rough and his hair was almost rakish. Kurt normally had the impulse to civilize people who looked so debauched, but civilization was just about the last thing on his mind.

Kurt brought his mouth up to Blaine's again. Blaine ran his fingers along Kurt's ear and over his collarbone before turning them both over, so Kurt was underneath him. Kurt was just enough soft, just enough hard, and his eyes were a color that didn't exist anywhere else in the world. His body felt new under Blaine's, and that filled Blaine with so much excitement it was almost strangling. He wanted to touch every inch of him, drink him in. He wanted to come apart with him.

They kissed and kissed, pulses matched, and then – a shifting – a shout – and Kurt didn't quite know how, but he was on top of Blaine again and – _oh_ – that's where his hand was. He grinned wickedly and twitched his finger.

"_Fuck_," Blaine groaned. "Kurt, you're, you're—"

Kurt swallowed his words with a kiss. They moved against each other, a tangle of limbs that would be awkward if it wasn't so sublime; Kurt teased Blaine's prostrate until his body loosened, then stretched him with two, three fingers, until his body was as tight as a spring again. Blaine could look utterly ravished, a moaning wreck one minute; but the next minute, he would pin Kurt underneath him, bite his earlobe and make his toes curl. They went back and forth like this until both of them were so deliciously close, until both their fingertips were oversensitive. Kurt raised one eyebrow, and Blaine, currently underneath him, rubbed his foot on his calf in consent. Kurt's heart raced in his throat. Blaine was so unchecked.

Kurt hesitated, so Blaine wrapped his hand around his cock and guided it against his hole. They both held their breath, eyes locked; then Kurt pressed in suddenly, and they both breathed out, two fevers breaking. Blaine dropped his head against the pillow, eyes shut, lips parted; his throat twitched forward with each thrust, and then he gritted his teeth and shouted, and Kurt came so hard he struggled to stay inside Blaine – and then they collapsed, moaning and kissing and clinging, clinging, clinging like they would die if they let go - and then Kurt rested his head on Blaine's chest in a sticky bacchian sleep, and Blaine sifted his finger through his hair.

"When did you know you were in love with me?" Kurt mumbled after a while.

Blaine smiled. "When we were looking up at the stars. What about you?"

"When you were fixing your car. When we…"

"…just kind of fell into each other's arms."

Kurt nodded. "I had to catch myself. I almost kissed you."

"I could tell. I wish you had."

"I don't. This was perfect."

"I wish you had kissed me every chance you got, because they're all gone now."

"We'll make up for them."

Blaine turned on his side, and his smile faded to contemplation. "Do you think we could do this again?"

"It's just a piano lesson," Kurt replied, and Blaine smiled softly.

* * *

Blaine hung up his keys and jacket and stood in the doorway for a moment. Then he walked to his room with a quiet smile on his lips. He had just opened the door when Finn appeared in the hallway.

"Could I talk to you about something?"

The happy breath Blaine had been holding in escaped all at once. "Yeah. Of course."

"It's kind of serious."

"That's okay. We'll crack open a couple beers."

Finn shook his head. "No. No beer."

Blaine's eyebrows jumped. "God, it must be pretty bad."

Finn didn't smile. He just nudged his head toward the living room. They sat down across from each other and Finn folded his hands.

"It's about…it's about all this stuff going on with the Smythe Corporation…they've been…been blackmailing me…I got the final warning today, and I didn't want to tell you, but they know everything about my dad and the army and they're going to use it against me. Sebastian, it's, it's how he got so rich so fast. He blackmails people. It's his entire business."

Blaine tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. His voice came out cracked. "I don't…I don't… know what to say."

"And I know you have a good job with them and I don't want to screw it up, but I had to tell you the truth. And I knew if I didn't, Mom would. We owe it to you. You've done everything for us."

"Finn, I—" The words spun in his head. _I'm in love with his husband. We're sleeping together._ " – thanks. Thanks for telling me."

"Well, that's not, not all," Finn went on. "Now that this last warning's been given….anyone concealing me would be a bad sort of danger if they found me…and I…I love you, man…I don't want you getting hurt."

Blaine nodded, deadened. "Well, it's what you said. I love you, man."

* * *

Kurt was standing in the kitchen again with a new cup of coffee. The only thing that had noticeably changed was the time on the clock, and who paid attention to that?

He didn't feel guilty. He felt. He felt tremendously. But it wasn't guilt. It was – it could only be – love, and he had expected to be scared. Love breaks and builds in equal measure; it's indiscriminate in it's choice, and it can be windfall or human sacrifice. Deserve has nothing to do with it. But he wasn't scared. He couldn't be scared of something that made him feel so – and he felt like an idiot to say it – so warm and complete.

He finished his coffee and washed the mug. Then he opened up the refrigerator and heated up a serving of pasta. There was one serving left. He put it on a plate, covered it with plastic wrap, and put it on the top shelf of the fridge.

Sebastian could have it when he got home.

* * *

**A/N: Oh Kurt. **


End file.
